


I've Gone Half Crazy Worried About You

by muchlessvermillion



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Background friendships with the others and them loving each other but it's not a big focus., Canon Temporary Character Death, Codependency, Directly after TRK's climax, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, dealing with death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23961820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muchlessvermillion/pseuds/muchlessvermillion
Summary: Long before Gansey died, before the possibility was cemented as real to anyone they knew, Ronan had been afraid of it.----Gansey died. He's here now, but he'd been dead, he'd been gone. They'd almost lost him forever.No one's dealing with it well, especially Gansey and Ronan.
Relationships: Richard Gansey III/Ronan Lynch
Comments: 12
Kudos: 61
Collections: TRC Spring Fling





	I've Gone Half Crazy Worried About You

**Author's Note:**

> This is my gift work for cheeriosnuggles on tumblr! (It appears there's an ao3 username of that name as well, but I didn't want to risk it in case it's somehow another person since I only knew the tumblr for sure.) 
> 
> One of their prompts was Ronsey featuring "something involving the aftermath of TRK (recovering Gansey, clingy bff Ronan)" so that's what I did.
> 
> I truly hope you like it! I love these boys. And they love each other and are in love.
> 
> Title from the song Half Crazy by Jukebox the Ghost.

Long before Gansey died, before the possibility was cemented as real to anyone they knew, Ronan had been afraid of it.

His nightmares spat out wasps and epi-pens in turns, like an obsessive game of roulette. Some nights he sat perfectly still in his bed, unable to sleep, because of the faint possibility he might bring back a swarm of terrors and kill Gansey himself. Other nights, he drank himself into oblivion for dreamless sleep, or found somewhere entirely else to rest his eyes, where whatever snuck out of his subconscious and into the real world couldn’t touch Gansey at all.

The idea that there was something that could kill Gansey, who seemed like he should be so invulnerable—something that _had_ killed him once— scared Ronan shitless. Even the concept felt wrong. It felt wrong and nauseating and violent. A world without Gansey was like a world without light.

Ronan often shied away from his own feelings, and he didn’t necessarily want to examine the exact reasons behind the depths of his fear, but some of it was easy enough to reason: he’d gotten through the greatest loss he’d ever suffered because Gansey was there to help him. Ronan had no idea what would have become of him if Gansey hadn’t been in his life — as it was, he was already hardly recognizable as the boy he’d been before. If _Gansey_ died, who could get him through _that_? How would he survive it?

He wasn’t sure he could. He wasn’t sure he’d want to.

Around the time Kavinsky was setting the sky alight for the craziest 4th of July of Ronan’s life (and in the weeks leading up to it), Ronan came to terms with several things about himself.

1\. He didn’t have to hate himself for what he was. Dreamer, Graywaren, thief, monster, drinker, bastard, attack dog — whatever. He’d asked God enough times what was expected from him, why he’d been seemingly crafted as a being who only existed to do things he’d pay penance for later, and he still wondered. But he didn’t have the energy to loathe himself like he had. Or loathe himself as much as Kavinsky had. Give up on the world like Kavinsky had. He didn’t hate himself. He didn’t hate what he was.

2\. Of the things Ronan Lynch was, one of them was attracted to men. Guys. Dudes. Whatever. Ronan wasn’t big on labels, but he couldn’t really fight with _that_ notion anymore. The things he’d been thinking about that summer had basically blown any leftover denial out of the water.

3\. Kavinsky was wrong about a lot of shit. Most shit, in fact. And he hadn’t understood what Ronan’s relationship with Gansey was; he hadn’t really understood Ronan at all. But he hadn’t been wrong that Ronan loved Gansey. Wanted him, even. The thing that Kavinsky hadn’t gotten was Ronan’s priorities — he could want Gansey for a thousand years, and it’d still be most important that they’d chosen each other as friends, as family. Not family in the sense that Declan and Matthew were, but as Parrish was now, as Sargent had become. Ronan loved Gansey in so many ways he could hardly pick one. Kavinsky thought that because Ronan couldn’t know if he’d ever get romance or sex from Gansey, Gansey who didn’t even _know_ the extent of what Ronan felt for him, that the possibility of that was enough to sway him from his side. As if lust could hold a candle to the shining bright brilliance of what he and Gansey had built between them, platonic or not. As if wanting a romantic relationship could be more important to him than Gansey, and Adam, and Noah, and even Blue, though he hadn’t known how much he’d care about her yet. Ronan wanted Gansey. But that want wasn’t chief among what he cared about by a long shot.

And now, months later, less than a day since all of Ronan’s worst fears had come to pass in the span of a few hours, after his mother’s decomposition and Adam’s possession and the near destruction of everyone he held dear and the earth shattering reality of Gansey dying for real and coming back shaky but whole, Ronan was still seeing it every time he closed his eyes. Gansey’s body, slumped and limp. Gansey’s face, pale, bloodless.

He’d hardly let go of him since they got him back. The five of them had slumped in Fox Way’s living room the moment they’d gotten back, and they’d _all_ sort of clung to Gansey, and each other. There had been long bouts of silence and bursts of talking, but no one wanted to go far. No one wanted to be alone.

Ronan didn’t want to let Gansey out of his sight. Part of his mind thought that the second he disappeared around a corner or behind a door he’d be dead again, and that this time they wouldn’t be able to save him. He followed at his heels like a rescue dog, long after the living room congregation had started taking brief, faltering attempts at space, for showers, for food, for Blue to hug her mom.

Gansey seemed the least willing to perform the motions of normal life. He sat there on the floor, still and stricken, staring off into space and speaking when spoken to. He reached for them when they touched him, held their hands and tangled his fingers in theirs and had cried into their shoulders when he had first come back, but when Maura brought him food and left it next to his spot on the floor, he’d ignored it.

Ronan stayed too, sitting nearby with Gansey in his direct line of sight like a guard dog.

Time was strange right now, so either an infinity or an instant could have passed before Gansey finally cleared his throat, silencing the murmurs in the room, and drew himself slowly to his feet.

(It was probably the longer option, judging by how dry Ronan’s throat felt, but it had been tight with the threat of tears for hours now, even after he’d cried, so he couldn’t be sure.)

Gansey cleared his throat a second time, but his voice was still raspy when he announced; “I should take a shower. I’ll feel better.” It felt like he was the one he was trying to convince. He glanced over at Blue. “If it’s alright that I use it, I mean.”

“Of course it is,” she said, a little incredulous. She and Adam had already done so, so clearly it wasn’t reserved for blood relations — and even if it was, Ronan doubted any of them could deny the others anything right now. They were too glad to all be intact.

Gansey nodded, firm, looking like he was trying as hard as he could to look like himself and it wasn’t quite working. On his way towards the door, he cuffed Ronan gently on his shaved head, squeezed Adam’s shoulder, ran a hand over Blue’s hair, and fist-bumped Henry.

Ronan suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of him disappearing alone into the darkened hallway. He stumbled to his feet as well, a little surprised by how shaky his legs were, and trailed after him, ignoring Blue’s questioning look.

It took Gansey the entire walk to the bathroom to realize Ronan was following him. It usually wouldn’t take that long; Gansey could be shockingly observant for someone who said such stupid shit sometimes. He turned towards him at the doorway, and flashed Ronan a smile so tired and fake-looking that it made his gut clench. He hated that. He hated it whenever Gansey felt obligated to pretend, and he hated it especially right now, when the only people who could see him already loved him. Fucking idiot.

“Oh, Ronan,” Gansey said, and he sounded even more exhausted and numb than he looked. “My apologies. Did you need the bathroom?”

It took Ronan a minute to recalibrate his brain enough to realize he had to reply, during which Gansey waited and he stared at Gansey.

“No,” he grunted out, finally, and Gansey’s expression turned politely puzzled.

“Oh,” he said again. “Alright, then. I’ll just —“ He nodded in the right direction, and stepped through the threshold.

Ronan hadn’t even realized he was reaching for Gansey until he suddenly had his arm in his grip.

It was stupid. Ronan knew it was. It wasn’t like he could watch Gansey for the rest of his life. He was just showering, for Christ’s sake. They’d have to split up eventually, do other things, go back to normal.

But Ronan didn’t _feel_ normal. And he knew Gansey didn’t either. He didn’t want to pretend they did. What he _wanted_ was to be sure nothing bad would ever happen to Gansey again, but that wasn’t possible.

The longer Ronan held onto his arm without speaking, the more concerned and confused Gansey looked, and the more Ronan felt like he was crumbling. It felt like it must be visible, like every part of him was a landslide, a cave-in.

“Ronan?” Gansey finally ventured, when it became apparent Ronan wasn’t going to say anything. He reached for him, touching his warm fingers to Ronan’s hand where he had latched onto Gansey’s arm. “What’s—“

A branch broke in Ronan’s heart, and he burst into tears.

“Oh, shit,” Gansey murmured, even as he stepped closer into Ronan’s space, even as he pulled him to his chest and tucked his face into Ronan’s neck, his breath hot on his skin. “Shit, Ronan, what’s wrong?”

“What do you _think_ is wrong, asshole?” Ronan grit out, his face wet and voice hoarse. Every inhale he took shuddered. It was shocking, how hard it suddenly was to keep himself upright, how weak his legs were again. “You fucking died, you bastard.”

“Well, I’m not dead now,” Gansey offered, though he sounded pretty shaky himself. “Thanks to all of you.” His fingers had wound themselves into Ronan’s tank top. Ronan had pressed so far into him that Gansey’s mouth was nearly on his skin, and he could feel his words against it. He shivered.

“But you _did_ ,” Ronan repeated, insensible, and his legs gave.

The next thing Ronan knew he and Gansey were both crouched in the middle of Fox Way’s hallway, and he was sobbing into his shoulder, open and vulnerable, like a kid with a skinned knee. He didn’t know what he’d do if one of the others came around the corner. He probably wouldn’t even notice.

“Ronan,” Gansey was saying, quiet and fervent, holding him as he shook and cried. Ronan felt something wet on his shoulder, and realized Gansey was crying too, now. “Ronan, fuck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m here, it’s okay, you don’t have to—“

“Shut _up,_ ” Ronan said, his fingers tight in Gansey’s shirt, his face pressed against his shoulder. “Shut up, shut up, just —“ He couldn’t seem to get close enough. “You can’t _leave_ , you can’t leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Gansey said, now sounding just as wrecked as Ronan felt. “I promise. I didn’t want to.”

“You _can’t_ ,” Ronan repeated.

“I’m here,” Gansey promised. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You can’t just,” Ronan said again, aware he was babbling and just as aware he couldn’t seem to stop. “I just don’t want you to—“

“I don’t want to leave you either,” Gansey said, and it sounded like he meant it, and before Ronan even knew what he was doing he had leaned up, yanked Gansey in by his collar, and kissed him on the mouth. It took a moment for his brain to catch up with his body, and immediately he pulled back, horror dawning in him like a sunrise. Gansey had said he wouldn’t leave him, and he’d ruined it anyway. There was no guarantee of keeping him now. Ronan jerked himself back so fiercely he knocked his head on the opposite wall, drawing his knees to his chest.

Gansey looked fully stunned, his fingers coming up to brush his own mouth where Ronan’s had just been. Ronan felt miserable in an entirely separate way than he had before.

“Fuck,” he said, after a moment of agonizing silence. Gansey didn’t look any less dumbstruck. “Fuck, I’m sorry, can we write that off as just — Jesus, Gansey, I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to.”

But Gansey was leaning towards him again, a trembling hand cupping the curve of Ronan’s jaw, and his mouth was on his again with sudden intent, purpose, and flowers bloomed in Ronan’s ribs, a much nicer sensation than he’d thought it might be.

There was no reason not to kiss him back, so Ronan did.

“I love you too,” Gansey said, lowly assured in a way that surprised him — Ronan felt like he would have asked first, doubled back to check, drawn back to make sure. Gansey was right, of course, but he wasn’t usually so sure of it.

Maybe some things were easier to say after dying twice.

“Oh,” Ronan said, his heart doing something frantic and pleased. He wasn’t healed from the hurt of the day, of the last few weeks — things in him still ached and feared, a hollow shape in his chest that they would all be carrying for some time.

But they wouldn’t be carrying it alone.

And he kissed Gansey again, and again, until Gansey was laughing into his mouth for the first time since he’d died again, and he didn’t feel so far away.


End file.
